


Golden

by gingayellow



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (...................or is he??????), Gen, Golden Boy Shiro, M/M, Plucky Detective Keith Kogane, Pre-Kerberos Mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-13 00:36:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14738789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingayellow/pseuds/gingayellow
Summary: Shiro is the Garrison's Golden Boy. Perfect student, perfect athlete, perfect example of what the Garrison offers. And everyone loves him--as long as he remains exactly the way he is supposed to be.Luckily, Keith's never been like everyone. [Shiro/Keith, Pre-Kerberos]





	1. Chapter 1

Title: Golden (1/2)  
Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender  
Characters/Pairing: Shiro/Keith  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: Not mine, anything mentioned here by name isn't mine  
Warnings: None  
Notes: I know “golden boy” Shiro is a really popular hc for pre-Kerberos fics, and ymmv, but I honestly think Shiro would be super uncomfortable with that level of pedestalization? Especially if it was from Keith. So, here is my attempt to address that.

\--

 

Keith gulped down the last of his water bottle. The label (GARRISON WATER) wasn’t very creative, but up until a few months ago hydration after exercise had been a luxury, so Keith was not going to complain.

And why would he complain, when the Garrison was the best thing that had ever happened to him, Keith thought as he let himself collapse on a bench and relax for the first time that week—the one thing he couldn’t deal with were the crowds of students, and this was the first time he’d been really alone all week. But he could deal with that. He had a purpose. He had three meals a day. He had warm water, and a bed that wasn’t on the verge of collapse. He wasn’t stuck in a shack with nothing but the ghost of his father to keep him company.

He just had to follow the rules for a few years, and then he’d be a pilot. He could go anywhere he wanted. 

Keith closed his eyes, resting his head against the GARRISON GYMNASIUM’S wall. He would be free. Truly free. 

He just had to behave for a bit. Even he could do that.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t realize someone else was a night owl.”

Part of behaving meant he couldn’t bristle when someone invaded his space—except this wasn’t high school. Not everyone was out to get the weird kid who couldn’t afford a phone or lunch, and wasn’t it so funny to get him to lash out at them. So weird, so strange. Like an alien. Not shiny and witty and with a bright future filled with safe neighborhoods and full bellies and stable marriages like them.

“Would you rather be alone?”

“Um, no. Sorry,” Keith managed. “I’m just tired.” Not a lie.

The stranger breathed a sigh of relief as he placed his gym bag next to Keith’s bench. “I do a lot of running and jumping in my routine, and this is the only place big enough for me to do that.”

“I believe you.” The stranger was a little over six feet, with long limbs and stride that came with it. As he stretched, Keith took the opportunity to take in a few more details. Yes, he was tall, and built, but he didn’t move like it. He’d never see someone move so…. quietly before. He had dark hair and eyes, and went through his stretches soundlessly. Hunh. Most young men would preen a bit when there was an audience, but there was no ego here. Impressive. 

And as Keith watched him work through his routine, it became clear that his humility was not his only impressive quality. But it wasn’t just that. There was something familiar in his fighting style. It wasn’t like how his dad fought, or his very few memories of his mother teaching him the basics of hand-to-hand combat. It—oh, right, orientation. He’d been the cadet that gave them a run-down of the self-defense requirements. Takashi Shirogane.

Takashi Shirogane, who was wiping the sweat out of his eyes with his right arm, so Keith tossed him a towel from the duffel bag. “Thanks,” Shirogane said with a smile. “You must be one of the new cadets.” When Keith nodded, he added, “how are you liking it so far?”

“I like that I get to go to space after I graduate.”

Shirogane blinked. “Most people would tell me how they love how teachers give them individualized attention or the training or something else on our website.”

Keith shrugged. “I just really wanna go to outer space.” As long as he could remember. It wasn’t something he could explain very well. But… but something was waiting for him there. He just knew it.

Shirogane chuckled, then motioned to the bench. Pleasantly surprised at his manners, Keith gladly scooted to one side so Shirogane could sit. “Well, it’s nice to hear some genuine honesty around here.” He smiled again. “You know, I never caught your name.”

“Keith Kogane, sir.”

Shirogane tensed for a moment, a subtle motion that Keith almost didn’t catch. “We’re off duty, Keith. You can call me Shiro.”

“Right. Shiro.” It was strange, addressing the Takashi Shirogane—the person professors always used as the ideal students should strive for in their work—this informally, but if that’s what Shiro wanted, then okay. He handed Shiro a spare bottle of water. “And everyone knows who you are.”

Shiro smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh?”

“Yeah. You’re Takashi Shirogane, the golden boy of the Garrison.” Perfection in the form of a young man. Teachers loved him—even Iverson loved him. He had influence and talent most cadets would kill for.

But as Shiro bolted upright, eyes dark, mouth set in a severe frown, Keith realized that he had made a mistake.

“Don’t call me that.” Shiro’s tone, which had been so even in the orientation, so warm when he asked Keith if it was okay if he joined him, was now trembling with barely restrained rage. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—” Keith was too busy catching the water bottle Shiro threw at him to stop him from claiming his bag or storming off. 

“Excuse me,” Shiro all but shouted, “but the **_golden boy_** has to go study.” The gymnasium doors swished behind him.

… Okay. That was weird. 

And a little passive-aggressive.

Keith had called him ‘golden boy’ because Iverson had called him that during orientation, and Shiro had smiled. Although now that Keith thought about, that ‘smile’ had been very similar to the not-quite one he’d received when Keith told Shiro that everyone knew who he was. 

So, Shiro didn’t like his glowing reputation. Then why endure it? Surely some gentle corrections would be enough for a school that worshipped the ground Shiro walked on. There had to be some reason, and Keith was determined to learn it.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Golden (2/2)  
Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender  
Characters/Pairing: Shiro/Keith  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: Not mine, anything mentioned here by name isn't mine  
Warnings: None  
Notes: Content warning for smoking, and mentions of familial death. Also, phew, I had Some Things to say about Shiro in this chapter. @_@

\--

Shiro mentally assessed his workout as he hydrated. He’d completed all of his goals. He’d exceeded most of them. But there was still room for improvement—he could hit hard, but he was still slow, and easily distracted. If he wanted a pilot position, he couldn’t settle for competent, or occasionally excellent. He had to be perfect.

 _You have to be perfect, Shiro,_ Iverson had warned in his first year, when the admin (and Shiro himself) were beginning to realize that he was one of their more talented students. _People will accept no less._ When Shiro had pointed out that no one was perfect, Iverson sighed heavily, and continued. _You know that. I know that. The people who choose who gets to be astronauts and who’s stuck with cargo duty don’t. And they don’t want their astronauts to be people—they want them to be an ideal. You can never show weakness—or an emotion that isn’t bland confidence. I’m not telling this to scare you off, Shirogane. I’m telling you this because it’s a fact. All these people will claim to love you, claim you’re their buddy. But the instant you show fear or anger, they will turn on you._

So, Shiro never showed fear. He never showed anger. As far as the public were concerned, he was the talented yet humble star pilot of the Garrison. Nothing but success and happy adventures waited for him in his future. He would never struggle, or crumble, because if their ideal faltered, what would it say about the rest of everyone else?

His grandfather had died at the end of the first year. A man who outlived his son and daughter-in-law and almost all his friends. Shiro and Kinji, a schoolmate of his grandfather who was now an eighty-year-old man who’d endured the flight from Japan, handled the funeral arrangements. Shiro had grieved alone.

In his second year, his tuition rose considerably, the consequence of academic politics and infighting. That coupled with the funeral expenses meant that he had to sell the house he’d lived with his grandfather—and their furniture, and his laptop, and his comic books that were in better condition. After he’d given away all the little bits of himself that proved that he was at least secretly a human being, Shiro had to inform his instructors (with a smile, with warmth, he was an ideal after all) that he had the money for the rest of his program—because after all, the Garrison came first. They all had applauded him.

Thankfully, they were all gone when the heat/nausea in his head and in his gut made him punch a wall.

(But it was okay. Everything would be okay, once he made it to space.)

\--

It was the end of his second year, and he was so busy trying to apply to deep space missions that he didn’t have time to train except late at night, that something changed. Someone, to be precise. A young cadet who hadn’t tripped over his feet to kiss Shiro’s butt. Someone who just wanted to go to space as well. 

Until like everyone else, he called Shiro the golden boy. The ideal. The person everyone wanted to be, but had given him cold looks the week his grandfather died, and he snapped at a teacher after they scolded him for coming to class late—and Iverson took him aside, and reminded him that the Garrison didn’t want people who were compromised by grief. They wanted people who could smile through pain, and support everyone. _I’m sorry Shiro, but you can’t count on anyone here to support you._

In retrospect, Shiro hated himself for yelling at some poor cadet for just assuming he was fine with how the Garrison saw him. But like everyone else who realized that Takashi Shirogane wasn’t a source of exclusively positive yet non-threatening traits, that he wasn’t put on this earth to make them feel better about themselves, Keith—although after what happened, he should probably follow Garrison protocol and call him 'Kogane'—would now avoid Shiro like the plague.

That. That was probably for the best.

He just needed to focus on getting a deep space mission, after all.

\--

It was past curfew, but this wasn’t the first time Keith had ignored it, and it would not be the last. He had to talk to Shirogane (because he was willing to wager that after their last meeting, Shirogane wouldn’t let Keith call him ‘Shiro’ anymore) about earlier.

Usually, Keith would have brushed it off. Shirogane wouldn’t be the first person to think he was garbage, after all. He definitely wasn’t the first person to yell at him. And yet… Shirogane had been so calm and kind. Gentle, even. It wasn’t until Keith had brought up the hated ‘golden boy’ nickname that Shirogane had huffed off. It was an unanswered question, and Keith couldn’t stand unanswered questions. 

…Shirogane was tearing into that punching bag. Keith had seen raw rage before—in an opponent’s eyes, in his own reflection. He saw it again in Shirogane.

So. Shirogane has multiple instances of a temper now. 

Keith heard footfalls that he’d come to associate with Iverson, so he hid behind the sport equipment boxes. He was too far away to hear everything, but Keith could make out something about Iverson complimenting Shirogane on his athletic skill. Typical.

He was at an angle where he could read Shirogane’s lips. _Yes, sir._

Now Iverson was going on about… weakness. And not letting others see it? Well, that sounded like something Iverson would say.

Shirogane’s automatic _Yes, sir_ made Keith’s gut twist, but he wasn’t quite sure why.

Keith hunched down a bit further as Iverson said his good-byes to Shirogane, then walked past Keith. It wasn’t until Iverson was out of earshot that Keith saw Shirogane snarl and hit the punching bag again. 

Interesting. 

“By the way, I know you’re there, Kogane,” Shirogane said just loud enough for Keith to hear clearly. No one had ever detected him before when he was sneaking. 

Also interesting.

There was no point in hiding now, so Keith made his way to Shirogane. “Sorry, sir.” he began. “But I couldn’t think of a way to talk to you again without—”

Shirogane held up a hand. “First, I told you, it’s Shiro. Second, I should apologize. I let my temper get the best of me.”

“Okay, Shiro,” Kogane said again. “But that means you call me Keith again. Got it?”

Despite his foul mood, Shiro grinned. “Got it, Keith. But I am sorry.”

Keith shrugged. “Happens to everyone.”

“It’s not supposed to happen to me.” His tone must have betrayed more than he realized, since Keith placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Yes, it is, Shiro.” 

Shiro supposed that he should give him his practiced response. That there were more constructive ways to express anger, and that the Garrison rightfully disapproved of hot-headedness. Give Keith permission to stop caring about him. But instead he found himself thanking Keith for his concern. Shiro halfway expected Iverson to pop out of the wall and yell at him for being selfish.

But instead, Keith just gave him a small smile. “C’mon, Shiro. Let’s get some fresh air.”

\--

It was late enough that students were asleep, and cold enough that the guards were sticking to their space heaters, which meant that Shiro and Keith had the night sky to themselves. Shiro took a deep breath, appreciating that no matter how lousy he felt, the stars were always steady. “Going for a walk was a good idea.”

“Yep,” Keith said as he rummaged through his jacket. “So was making it just long enough that we’re at the legal distance that I can have a smoke.” The cigarette was already in his mouth when he glanced at Shiro. “Don’t worry, I’m eighteen,” he mouthed around the cigarette. “You’re not witnessing me commit any crimes.”

“I know,” Shiro assured him. “But it’s bad for your health.”

Keith shrugged again, but there was a hint of arrogance to it this time. “Guess I've always had a soft spot for things that are bad for me.”

Shiro bristled at that. Not as much as he did the first time he met, of course, but so much of how others saw him was a performance. Underneath it all, he was a very real person—and he wanted Keith to know that.

“Give me a cigarette.”

“You smoke?”

“Nevermind that. Give me a cigarette.”

Keith rolled his eyes, but did as Shiro requested.

“Now give me a light.” Again, Keith followed orders, bringing a plain plastic red lighter out of his pocket.

“As you can see, Keith, I am hardly a good boy myself—” Shiro then began to die.

“First cigarette ever, hunh. Not to mention you’re clearly sensitive to smoke,” Keith said over Shiro’s coughs, not without sympathy. “Don’t worry. I don’t need one that bad, anyways.” Through his tears, Shiro saw Keith put his cigarettes and lighter away.

“I…just wanted you to…”

“Just wanted me to see you as a person, not an ideal?” It was scary how perceptive Keith was. “That happened when you yelled at me.”

“Yeah,” Shiro managed, still dizzy from his first (and last) attempt at smoking. “I guess so.”

“How ‘bout we go back in and get some water?”

“Okay,” Shiro said, only coughing twice in the process. “But I might throw up on you.”

“Enh. You’re only human.”


End file.
